Page 93 of ILY
“I mean it, Thorne. Did you tell me you loved when I was zonked out of my mind?”
Thorne shrugs. “Might have been unable to help myself.”
I sigh and lean back once more, making sure to keep my gaze on him. “Well, go on. Tell me again now that I’m sober.”
Thorne shakes his head. “Nah, too late. Said it once, won’t say it again.”
My lips turn down, and I grind my heel into his thigh. “Say it, or I’ll torture it out of you.”
Thorne grins and then rolls his lips between his teeth. “Fine, I love you. There. You happy?”
“Immensely,” I breathe, feeling something well up inside of me. Anticipation, eagerness, and something else. I’m giddy with it though. “And, just so you know, I love you too. In case that wasn’t clear.” I lift my hand, adding it in ASL—the I-L-Y on my fingers forming into one single sign to convey this very big feeling in my chest.
Thorne’s gaze slams into mine, and I see the intensity in those depths. I want to put my tea down, crawl into his lap, and suck on those lips, but before I can, I see movement in the distance. A critter waving at me from the fence post.
My gaze narrows, and I shoot up. “Fucking Michael! He’s ruining the moment! He knew this was going to happen! He had this planned!”
I jolt forward, the teacup falling to the ground in a clatter. It’s probably broken, but I don’t care. I’m on the move, my feet digging into the ground as I rush toward where Michael just was. Of course he scurried away, went back into his hidey-hole.
But I’m gonna get him.
As I approach where he was, my gaze takes in the various fruits and veggies lining the ground. My bare foot hits an apple,and I gasp. “I’m gonna kill him!” I shout as my foot starts to itch. I’m going to get hives.
He must have known this when he planted that apple.
I skid to a stop, looking this way and that, rubbing my foot on the ground to stave off the itch that is building.
“Leaf,” Thorne says as he approaches. “You hurt?”
“Stepped on a damn apple that Michael brought over here.”
I point to my foot, and Thorne bends down, picking up my foot gently, examining the bottom.
His fingers brush over the rash that’s forming, and I stare down at him. He looks good on his knees. “Do I need to take you to the hospital?”
“No, I just need some antihistamine ointment.”
“Hm,” he hums, and then his gaze turns toward the chewed-up veggies. He tosses the apple away and begins to stand when he stops. His eyes squint, and he reaches over, picking something up between his fingers.
“What is that?” I ask when I look down and see something white in his fingers.
He cocks his head and murmurs, “A tooth.”
My mouth parts on a gasp. “A tooth! Oh my god. Michael! Is he okay?”
Thorne’s gaze meets mine, his brows furrowed.
“No, Leaf. It’s a human tooth. And it looks old.”
Having worked as an interpreter for most of my adult life, I have always been prepared to process and repeat anything from the most mundane conversation to the most unhinged shit a personcould think of. Nothing gave me more dread than when a public performer noticed me. It meant I was going to spend the next half hour being forced to sign offensive sentences like I was some performing circus animal, and my Deaf clients’ access to the actual show came far below the entertainment of the hearing audience.
But nothing, and I mean nothing, could have prepared me for the man I was falling for, the possible love of my life, to look me in the face and tell me that the thing in his hand was a human tooth.
I all but throw myself backward. “Oh, what thefuck?”
“Breathe,” he says.
I’m about to tell him I am breathing. I’m dizzy, so I’m probably breathing too much. Then I become very aware that my chest is tight and my lungs are burning. Maybe I’m more allergic to apples than I thought. I suck in air and wheeze out an exhale before things return to a bit more normal.
